An Early Warning
by Engar
Summary: A look into Irvine as he starts his career in SEED and what he thought about his 'talent' with firearms.


"The gun, my young friend, is a noble and powerful weapon. There are those who would discount this. Those who claim to be educated might try to convince the public that the gun is the weapon of the unskilled. But we know better, don't we, young man?"

Old Owl Eyes started every lesson with the same speech; it was as familiar to him as his dormitory or the green fields that surrounded the academy. And, in spite of what he might say when laughing with his friends, he wouldn't have changed it for the world. Owl Eyes had said it on his first lesson, when he had been scared and homesick, and as long as he gave this little sermon, Irvine could be sure that his place in the world was secure.

"Are you ready to begin?"

If only he taught some other subject, one he didn't _detest_ quite so much..

"Young man? Irvine?"

The boy who was an orphan, who would be a warrior, grinned bashfully at his instructor and rubbed his forehead with his free hand. His golden brown hair was knocked away from his eyes, long though it was it still fell short on what it would become. Short hair was traditional for students and he was only allowed to let it grow a little longer because of his _gift_..

"Sorry Mister McPhee, guess I was drifting.."

The old man met his grin eagerly, eyes twinkling with a passion that was sorely missing when he looked towards the other boys. In a way Irvine was only beginning to comprehend he hated that look. He hated the attention – no, more than that, the obligation it placed upon him. Owl Eyes looked on him like a saviour and, though Irvine wished he were, he really wasn't one.

"Well let's waste no more time, you've got some pigeons to shoot!"

Owl Eyes drew back a fair distance - a veil of blessed professionalism slipping over his features and halting any further praise. The old man gave Irvine one more look, then fixed his gaze down the hill towards the little black machine that stood ready for his command. He barked out once immediately - no warning for prodigies.

"3 shots, pull!"

Three blurs filled the air and Irvine felt all other details fall away. The glow of grass in the mid-day sun, the rustle of his clothing as hand rose up, the speed of the discs as they whirred into the distance; nothing was important. The gun sounded three times in rapid succession and two of the 'pigeons' shattered immediately – the third was caught in the side and twirled in mid-air before breaking in two.

"6 rapid shots, pull!"

The first gun was already holstered, his left hand smoothly drawing out his second gun and steadying itself upon his right arm. Everything was smooth now, every move a result of instinct – both taught and natural – guiding his hand. The gun cracked a further six times, six clouds filling an area almost a hundred feet away.

"1 shot, highest setting, pull!"

The gun twirled between his fingers then slid easily into its holster; even as he knelt on the soft turf he was caught in the numbness of battle. Both hands drew up the rifle that lay before him, one foot adjusting as the but of the weapon rested against his shoulder.. fitting as though it belonged there. An emotionless eye focussed through the scope; picking out the clay pigeon as easily as if it were right in front him. Still held by the void, he squeezed his finger against the -

_. . . what if this were real . . ?_

- trigger, but against all reason the gun wouldn't fire. The void faltered for a moment, details seemed to swim in and out of focus as mind and instinct battled. This was only a pigeon, nothing important. _This was everything, this was vital._ Nothing but a pigeon! _His entire future!_ He had to fire! **_He_**_ **could** **not** **fire! **_His minds prattling filling him with doubt, Irvine's eyes tightened shut and his finger squeezed hard upon the trigger.

For a moment nothing seemed true, nothing seemed real. Hands that only felt distantly related to him drew back the gun and unloaded it with a click, unspent ammo landing silently on the grass as he lay the rifle down. He looked up and around, for a moment unsure of who he truly was. All that seemed certain was that he was far from home..

"Irvine!"

He focussed on the old man and felt a grin, pale and unconvincing, slip over his features. Hovering in the distance behind his teacher was a black cloud; the remnants of the pigeon he had – _killed_ – destroyed slowly making their way towards Earth. Owl Eyes was peculiarly blind when it came to Irvine after their little sessions; he always felt drained and exhausted and this was worse than anything before, but it all went over the man's blissful head.

"Incredible display my boy, I can't say I was overly impressed with your show-boating towards the end but.." his eyes glimmered in the sunshine, the old man looking for all the world like a kid whom has just seen the single coolest thing in the world, "I guess a little drama can't hurt. As long as you realise that that must end when you are an actual member of SEED. You'll be the best sharp shooter we've got by the end of this term, so you should learn to show some humility while there's still things we can teach you."

On one level Irvine wanted to correct the old man, he really did. He disliked lying and hated to think of himself as one who told lies at all, let alone often. Were it in his power to do so, he'd tell the old man that not only had he been scared - not show-boating - he was scared every time he used a real gun. There was a power to the weapon beyond any mortal understanding; it dealt with certainties and certainties alone. When you pulled the trigger you knew that you were making a definite impact on the world and Irvine hated every second of it.

"Mister McPhee.. I really don't know if.."

"Oh don't worry, young man," Owl Eyes clapped him on the back and waved towards the fallen ammo, "once you've retrieved and stowed your ammo we'll be back to good ol' BB's. This was just to make sure you haven't lost your feel for live ammo and, as expected, you performed excellently."

Irvine suppressed a sigh – the old man was certainly missing a couple of things but he wasn't stupid – and grinned along with his mentor. He grinned as he picked his bullets from the wet grass. Grinned as he packed away the rifle, piece by lethal piece, into a black case. Grinned even as he passed the remaining live bullets back to his instructor and made his way to the barracks. He paused at his bed, the future of their creed ringing in his ears, then fell flat onto the rock hard surface; to him it was as comfortable as any bed could possibly be.

"Didn't tell him, did yah?"

Without looking up, Irvine hurled his pillow backwards to the disgruntled cry of whomever he had hit. Before he had even begun reaching for a neighbouring pillow, however, his mysterious assailant was upon him; something pressing into the small of his back.

"Reach for the sky, cowboy."

The insufferably cool voice broke into laughter as Irvine rolled over and swung at his attacker, the newly grabbed pillow fetching him a feather-light blow to the face before the brown haired shooter lost his balance and fell off his own bed. Then, as he pushed himself upwards, he felt the same pressure between his eyes.

"Sorry hotshot, you lose this one."

Irvine glowered up at him; his opponent was possibly a year older than him with the first signs of facial hair to show for it. None of this apparent maturity was obvious here. The boy had two fingers pressed against Irvine's forehead while the rest were drawn back in the crude, childish shape of a gun. He laughed again, this time at the glowering expression his friend was favouring him with, but kept his 'gun' drawn.

"You should give in, Irvine. You know no ones a quicker draw than Billy the Kid."

'The Kid' was what he was known as by most of the dorm and it wasn't just a result of his first name. Billy (real name William) wasn't much when it came to sniping, he didn't have the cool detachment that a sniper needed and his vision wasn't top notch, but no one in the entire academy – apprentice to old hand – could draw like Billy. He could literally shoot a fly off your hand before you knew it had landed.. granted he'd take a chunk of your flesh with it, but that was besides the point.

"I give, far be it from me to challenge the great Billy." Irvine rolled his eyes and crawled back onto his bed, once again falling face forwards against it. "And no," came his muffled voice, "I didn't.."

"You're some kid, Irvine," Billy's reply was half amused, half sympathetic, "the only sniper on Earth that's gun shmmgh!"

The rest of the word was incomprehensible, in one move Irvine had risen from the bed and clamped one hand around Billy's mouth, glancing fearfully around to make sure their dorm was empty. Then, grudgingly, he released his friend and lay back against the bed.

"Damn, Irvine, don't you ever wash those things? I mean they're weapons in their own right!"

"Billy? Lay off my hands. This is important.."

He heard a sigh, then the slight clink as Billy moved to the bed by his; his friend lay back and yawned expressively.

"The way I see it, Irvine, you're gonna have to decide one way or the other pretty soon. I mean if you leave it any longer you're gonna be a real-life member of SEED. We won't be using Bbs then, you can count on that. People are gonna die."

Irvine didn't reply for a moment; he couldn't think of much to say that he hadn't already said at one point or another. This was a common topic for discussion.

"I just can't tell Owl Eyes that I don't want to shoot. Sometimes he's almost in tears after I shoot those damned guns."

He heard his friend's bed shift slightly and turned so that the two were facing each other.

"The old coot is pretty crazy over you, ain't he?"

"He's an OK guy, but he's putting way too much faith in me."

Billy nodded with a weary grin that gave Irvine reason to pause but it didn't take him long to figure out what Billy was thinking.

"I'm not the only one who thinks that, am I?"

"Nope," Billy hesitated for a moment, pondering something, then his expression became serious, "fact is that most of the dorm hates your guts.."

Irvine paled visibly.

"Seriously? I mean, I knew that a couple of them-"

"Fraid so, hell even I've been kinda sore at times."

If possible Irvine looked even worse; he started shaking slightly and his hands balled into nervous fists. When Billy reached over to pat his arm Irvine drew back but it was more out of shock than anything and Billy made an effort not to take offence.

"You're not really a confident guy, Irvine. That should be obvious to anyone who speaks to you for more than a second or two but it means you're kinda blind too. You're so caught up looking for people who don't like you that you end up looking right past most of them, I just didn't want to say anything.."

As expected, Irvine took a deep breath and steadied himself. Billy wasn't a fool when it came to making friends; Irvine was made of far too much steel to fall apart just because some teenagers didn't like him – even if he was a little spooked when it came to shooting.

"Why tell me now?"

"Weeell," Billy drew the word out comically, as though there were a list of reasons and indeed there did seem to be, "first off you asked. Second, it was getting kinda embarrassing. Guys were talking about how much they hated you and you'd just walk up to them and start chattering away. Third, you deserve to know. I mean if you're gonna choose either way, and I hope you at least choose soon, you should know what staying would mean. And fourth, I'm your friend and I was getting sick of lying to you."

Billy grinned at him, clearly relieved to have gotten it off his chest.

"Billy.. why do they hate me?"

His grin faded away he realised that this wasn't as clear-cut as he had hoped. Billy took time with this answer, his face taking that grim twist that slipped into place every time the pair went into a fire fight (or at least the BB equivalent.)

"Most because you're damn good, Irvine, and that's a fact. A few genuinely just don't like you, who knows what reason they have – maybe they don't like wannabe cowboys. The rest hate you because they're pretty good and never get any attention."

The last one had the most affect on Irvine because it was in this one he could see his friend standing - in his more bitter moments at any rate. Billy was an expert when it came to handguns but Owl Eyes looked for a more versatile warrior - someone who could show off his abilities in both sides of the trade. While Irvine wasn't as good as Billy with handguns, nor the best sniper in the world, he was pretty damn good in both and it was that which put him above the rest. It was that which stole away Owl Eyes' attention from Billy and the others.

Billy saw this in Irvine's hazel brown eyes and shook his head ruefully.

"Don't worry, Irvine, I would never hold your talent against you. And I doubt very much that you're hypnotising Owl Eyes, or whatever garbage some of the guys are spreading. If anything the old man has hypnotised himself; so much fighting's done with blades and magic these days that he's afraid that the Age of the Gun is at an end. He _needs _a hero who can hold up both up close and distant gun-fighting; someone the people can get behind. Glory be if you aren't his cowboy, his own personal Lone Ranger."

His friend said it with a laugh but Irvine could see the shadow of bitterness there, the idea that it should be him and not Irvine. And Irvine only agreed, he neither needed nor wanted the attention that Owl Eyes was pouring on him. He was out of the orphanage now and almost guaranteed a place in SEED, he could handle a low paying position if it kept him fed and out of an office. More than anything Irvine wanted to sink into anonymity, he didn't want his decisions to affect anyone any more.

"If I leave I'll be back on the streets. I _really_ don't want to go back there."

"Can't you go back to the orphanage, you aren't close to eighteen yet."

"Go back there..?" Irvine's features twisted for a moment, as if the thought disgusted him.

"That bad?"

"No, I loved the place. Loved the people, the kids there were the best damned friends I've ever known.." Irvine hesitated then grinned, "Next to you, of course."

Billy returned the grin easily, "Of course."

"It's just that.. getting a real family and then just giving it all up – I don't know how I'd even be able to look 'em in the eye. Sorta throwing it in their faces that no one's come for them.. of course they could all be gone by now. That'd be even worse, it's a nice place but I loved it because of the people.."

Giving his head one last bump Irvine returned to his pillow-less bed, resigned.

"I can't go back there, not after getting my chance, and I sure as hell can't go anywhere else. It was after my foster parents took me in that my 'talent'," Irvine spat the word, "was discovered. I doubt they'd take me in again, hell they probably got another kid and can't even remember me."

"So what _are_ you going to do? If you've got trouble with pigeons you aren't going to last in a fire-fight and that's a fact, Irvine."

Irvine just lay there; eyes squeezed shut and hands gripping hard enough onto his hair to pull long, golden strands away.

"That's the thing, Billy, I just don't know! I just don't know!"

'Billy the Kid' opened his mouth once or twice – perhaps trying to think of a way to jolly Irvine out of the depression, or maybe to point out some fact that the two had missed so far – but nothing came out. Instead he lay back and did the only thing he could - provided a steady presence while the Irvine's world crashed around his head. He hoped it was enough but deep inside knew that Irvine's problems weren't going to be solved by the advice of some kid-friend. Part of young William didn't think they'd ever be solved at all.

* * *

_If shame had a face I think it would kind of look like mine,  
If it had a home would it be my eyes,  
Would you believe me if I said I'm tired of this,  
Well here we go now one more time.._

"Gentlemen, are you ready?"

_I tried to climb your steps,  
I tried to chase you down,  
I tried to see how low I could get down to the ground,  
I tried to earn my way,  
I tried to change this mind,  
You better believe that I have tried to beat this.._

Irvine glanced nervously to his side where Billy, his partner in all their competitions, stood ready. The older boy shot him a reassuring grin and made a joke Irvine didn't hear over the babble of students. It didn't matter, Irvine laughed anyway and the panicked note in his voice almost made him despair then and there. How often had the two of them done this sort of thing? How many times would he do this before he stopped acting 'chicken-shit' as some of the seniors would put it.

_When will this end,  
It goes on and on, over and over and over again,  
Keep spinning around I know that it won't stop,  
Till I step down from this for good.._

Billy caught the sound – Irvine didn't know _how_ in the middle of the din, but he did – and placed a hand on his shoulder, drawing him close enough to speak clearly.

_I never thought I'd end up here,  
Never thought I'd be standing where I am,  
I guess I kind of thought it would be easier than this,  
I guess I was wrong,  
Now one more time.._

"You've just got to make it nothing, Irvine. Convince yourself that they're just pigeons, they don't mean _shit_! Close it all down and fight with me, Irvine!"

_I tried to climb your steps,  
I tried to chase you down,  
I tried to see how low I could get down to the ground,  
I tried to earn my way,  
I tried to tame this mind,  
You better believe that I have tried to beat this.._

He wanted to be able to do that, to convince him that none of it really mattered. In the years that followed Irvine would go further, he'd convince himself that not much mattered at all. He'd coast through life telling jokes and making passes without a care on the surface of his extremely cool mind. It was self-defence; he did it so that he could do what he did with a clean conscience. Right there and then, however, Irvine was just a scared kid with two revolvers filled with paint-balls and a hell of a lot of angry apprentices ready to change the colour of his hair.

_So when will this end,  
It goes on and on, over and over and over again,  
Keep spinning around I know that it won't stop,  
Till I step down from this sick cycle carousel,  
This is a sick cycle carousel,  
Sick cycle carousel,  
This is a sick cycle, yeah.._

He looked into Billy's eyes and saw desperation and fear. Not fear for himself – Irvine doubted any such emotion really existed – but fear that he wouldn't be able to protect Irvine out there in the battle-field. Billy who took more than his fair share of black eyes and trippings in the canteen – all because he refused to abandon Irvine for being what he was. Irvine didn't know how he could have missed it before but now it was glaringly obvious, there were monsters out there and they were hiding under the guise of children.

_So when will this end?  
It goes on and on, over and over and over again,  
Keep spinning around I know that it won't stop,  
Till I step down from this for good.  
When will this end?_

"Tell me now Irvine, do I go out with you or without you?!"

_  
It goes on and on, over and over and over again,  
Keep spinning around I know that it won't stop,  
Till I step down from this for good.._

And the voices kept arguing – _this is nothing; **this is everything**_ – but this time he wasn't listening. They weren't kids, they were monsters. And monsters didn't matter.

_Sick cycle carousel..._

"Now!"

_Sick cycle carousel..._

The door before them fell away to reveal an arena filled with boxes and barrels and ram-shackle huts. Perfect for one hell of a gunfight, into which dozens of children were pouring in with guns blazing.

_Sick cycle carousel..._

Into which dozens of monsters were pouring in with guns blazing..

_Sick cycle carousel..._

"Irvine!" Billy was screaming, his entire body shaking with the conflict of battle-instincts and the love he possessed for his friend.

_Sick cycle carousel..._

Irvine closed his eyes and let the sounds wash in - the shouts, the screams, and the whir of pellets filling the air. And, even as he did so, he felt that cold fire submerge his mind. _They were nothing._ This time there was no dissenting voice.

_Sick cycle carousel..._

And then, giving Billy not a second glance, he began to run. His guns appeared in his hands as if by magic – willing them into his grip – and he sent them to work. His friend was soon by his side and the two ran into the crowd, crying out in vengeance against the monsters that stood before them. Their pistols sounded out and, fake bullets or not, bodies parted before them like corn in the path of the reaper's blade.

_Sick cycle carousel..._

He had made his choice and he would move forwards; become the Lone Ranger and watch the monsters fall by the wayside. And hope deep down inside that he wouldn't regret it all in the end.

. . _the end_ . .


End file.
